My Little Ficlets
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: My collection of various short fics inspired by writing prompts that give the spark of inspiration. Sherlolly, Mollcroft, Jolly, whatever sparks my fancy. AUs, Canon, all formats, all unconnected oneshots unless indicated, with love and just for fun. Please enjoy! :)
1. Scraped Knees and Honey Bees

**A/U:** _So here is my first one: a Childlock AU, short and sweet and hopefully something to make your day a little brighter._

* * *

 **Scraped Knees and Honey Bees**

When Daddy took her to the park to play, Molly Hooper always went to the swings first. It was by far her favorite thing about the playground. When she had been smaller, Mummy and Daddy would push her in a steady rhythm. Now, at the age of six-years-old, Molly was big enough to swing all by herself.

Looking at Daddy, sitting on a nearby park bench with a book open on his lap, she was very glad of that fact. Daddy was always so delighted and happy when Molly learned something new, whether it be at school or at home. Since Mummy had passed away two months ago, he'd been _so_ sad. Oh, he tried not to let it show in front of Molly, but she noticed. So Molly was resolved to do everything in her power to help Daddy not feel so sad, and learning how to do things all by herself had produced spectacular results thus far!

Gripping the chains of the swing, Molly leaned back as far as she could so she could look at the sky. There were no clouds – very unusual for England in any month, even June – so she watched the flock of sparrows gracefully travel from one tree to another from her fascinating upside-down perspective. Giggling, she sat right back up, enjoying the rushing feeling in her head. Once her head was clear – and having gotten her breath back from her last round of swinging – Molly prepared herself by backing up and gripping the chains again.

But then, just as she lifted her feet and began to propel forward, a stronger and harder force slammed against her left shoulder as it rushed past her. It surprised her so much that she let go of the chains. As she fell forward to the grass, all Molly could see as to the reason she was falling off the swing was a mop of black curls rushing away and all she could hear was a more distant voice yelling, " _William, you bring that back right now!_ "

Then, with a pained " _oompf!_ " poor Molly fell to the ground. Her hands managed to block her face from the grass, but she felt the horrible sensation of the flesh on her right knees scraping against the grass and dirt. "Owwwww!" she groaned to herself, curling onto her side as her hands went to her right knee.

Then, she felt footsteps hurrying towards her, and soon heard Daddy's worried voice: "Molly! Tell where it hurts!"

In the next moment, Daddy was crouching beside her and gently helping her to sit up. Molly instantly felt bad; not because her right knee stung, but because her Daddy was worried and scared. Because of _her_. She was supposed to be trying to cheer him up, not making him even sadder!

So, in response to Daddy, Molly stuttered: "I-I'm okay, Daddy. I-It doesn't h-hurt at all."

But even as she spoke, her hands didn't leave her knee and hot tears poured down her cheeks from the pain.

Daddy, thankfully, didn't believe a word she said. He scooped her right up off the ground and carried her back to the park bench that he had been sitting on. Settling her on his lap once he was sitting down again, Daddy pulled his black bag closer to him on the bench. Daddy was a doctor, and took his bag everywhere with him. Molly couldn't deny that she was glad of that right now, since her right knee was still stinging _really_ badly, but she still felt horrible for doing something that made her father sad.

Daddy gently tried to pry Molly's tiny hands away from her knee. "Let me see, honey-bee," he coaxed, using his pet name for her.

Molly withdrew her hands in defeat and winced at the sight. Her right knee was indeed scraped, the flesh a bright raw red with droplets of blood seeping out, as well as stained by grass and dirt. Molly looked away and clenched her hands, which thankfully hadn't been scraped in the tumble.

"It looks worse than it is," said Daddy calmly. "We'll just clean it up, put a bandage on it, and you should be feeling much better."

Molly nodded, still not looking Daddy in the eye. She focused her gaze on a line of ants marching parallel to the bench as she listened to her father search through his bag for what he needed.

"I'm going to clean your knee and the scrape now," Daddy said, his arm wrapping around her shoulder. "This is going to sting a little, honey-bee."

Molly nodded and shut her eyes to prepare herself. She bit her lip when she felt the forewarned sting on her knee as her father swabbed it clean; she was determined not to let herself cry anymore about this.

However, when the stinging was over and she opened her eyes again, she saw Daddy's green eyes still looking at her with worry. This caused her floodgates to open again. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she said, fresh tears filling her eyes. "I'm sorry I fell off the swing."

"Honey-bee!" he exclaimed softly, playfully tugging one of her brown braids. "It wasn't your fault! Why on Earth would I be angry about this?"

The six-year-old looked down at her clenched hands. "I don't want to make you sadder," she said as quietly as she could.

But Daddy heard her, and his arm around her tightened while his other hand came up to wipe away her tears. "Oh, Molly Alice Hooper…I really miss Mummy, too, and we always will. We'll always be sad that she's gone. And yes, it hurts me when you get hurt, but _you_ could _never_ make me sad! You are the joy of my life, honey-bee, and nothing will ever change that! Accidents happen, and mistakes get made. Don't ever feel like you must be perfect to make me happy. Having you as my daughter makes me happy every day. Okay, honey-bee?"

A very sweet relief filled the six-year-old girl's mind and heart upon hearing her Daddy's loving words. Molly nodded and rested her head on his shoulder, and her Daddy kissed her nose.

"Now," he said, after a snuggle. "Does your knee still sting?"

"Not as bad as before," said Molly, which was the truth.

"Then let's put a bandage on it, and we'll get some ice cream on the way home. How does that sound?"

Molly smiled and nodded eagerly. "Can I get cookie-dough?"

"Only if I can get strawberry!"

They laughed, and Daddy pulled a bandage out of his medical bag. It had a bumble-bee pattern on it, and it was the right size to cover Molly's scrape.

"Excuse us."

Both Molly and her Daddy turned their heads to see who was addressing them. It turned out to be a tall, lanky, thirteen-year-old boy with ginger hair and a sour expression on his face. He was holding the wrist of a smaller boy who seemed to be Molly's age; he had dark curls and a pout on his face.

The taller boy spoke again now that he had their attention. "My name is Mycroft Holmes." He raised the smaller boy's wrist and hand distastefully. "This is my little brother, William."

"Hello, you two," said Molly's Daddy. "I'm Joseph Hooper, and this is my daughter, Molly."

Molly, who was shy around everybody, especially boys, blushed and gave a little wave as a greeting.

"I've told you I prefer _Sherlock_ ," grumbled the smaller boy, glaring at his big brother.

"When you knock a girl to the ground while in the process of thievery, you're William," said Mycroft Holmes. "You're just lucky it's not _Willie_."

William (or Sherlock) looked at the ground, guilt mixing into his pout.

Mycroft turned his attention back to Molly and her Daddy. "A pleasure, Mr. and Miss Hooper. Though I wish that this could be under better circumstances. My _darling_ brother, whom I've been tasked with chaperoning at the park today, decided to amuse himself by snatching the book I was reading from my hands and leading me on a wild goose chase. In the process, he collided with Miss Molly, causing her to fall off the swing and onto the ground." His eyes lowered to Molly's bandaged knee, and he scowled down at his brother. "What do you have to say for hurting Miss Hooper, William?"

The boy William lifted his eyes and looked at Molly. He was no longer pouting; he looked embarrassed and quite contrite. "I'm sorry," he nearly mumbled, but everyone caught every word. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

While he looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here, the boy William seemed truly sincere in his apology. Though only six-years-old, Molly knew what the truth was and what a lie was. This was not a lie.

"Okay," she said quietly, nodding her head. "Thank you."

William nodded as well, his gaze falling to her bandaged knee. Once his eyes discerned the pattern on the bandage, the blue-green orbs lit up and met her doe-brown ones again.

"You like honey-bees, too?"

And Molly smiled.


	2. A Family on Holiday

**A/N:** _Here is a short and sweet Mollcroft fic, inspired by a prompt from the fantastic_ Popcorn Love. _I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

 **A Family on Holiday**

"Are you sure that she is wearing enough, Molly?" asked Mycroft anxiously.

Molly laughed as she finished applying the child-friendly sunblock to their daughter's face. "Yes, Mycroft. Anymore and she'll be whiter than snow."

"Wike Snow White?" asked the tiny girl. Her speech was quite good for a two-year-old.

"More like the ghost of Snow White, darling," said Molly, smiling at her only child. "But just as pretty!"

Mycroft had to smile and relax at this. Though he could be a 'worry-wart,' according to his wife, he did trust her judgement completely.

"All done," said Molly, lifting the little one off of the kitchen chair and onto the floor. "Are we all ready to go, then?"

"Yay, yay, yay!" the little girl exclaimed, jumping up and down.

Smiling fully now, Mycroft nodded and slung the straps of their full beach bag over his shoulder. Molly took the little girl's hand in her own and followed her husband out of the cottage. Once the three of them were outside in the July sunshine, the smallest of the three turned to her mother and lifted up her arms. "Up, up, up!"

"Genevieve Eleanor Holmes, what do you say first?" her father scolded gently.

"Pweese?"

Molly laughed, picked their daughter up, and settled the two-year-old on her shoulders. Due to the height difference of her parents, this made Genevieve at perfect eye-level with her father.

"Ah! Now I may have a proper chat with this fair lady!" exclaimed Mycroft, making a bow to his daughter, making her giggle.

Molly smiled at her husband, knowing that she had the best man in the world as the father of their child. She reached up and held both of her daughter's hands so she would be more secure riding atop her shoulders. "Let's go to the beach!"

* * *

The walk down to the water didn't take long, since the cottage which they were renting for a week was right by the beach on the western coast of France. Once the two sets of adult feet set foot on the white sand, the tiny pair of two-year-old feet began to wriggle, just like the body it belonged to on her mother's shoulder.

"Down, Mummy! Pweese, down!" said Genevieve, trembling in excitement.

With Mycroft's help, Molly lifted the little girl down into her arms. Looking at her, glowing in the sunshine and her yellow bathing suit, Molly's heart was full. She saw Mycroft in her auburn locks and light sprinkling of freckles on her rosy cheeks. "Do you want to run?" Molly asked softly, giving Genevieve an eskimo kiss.

Genevieve giggled and nodded her head before turning it to her father. "May I wun, Daddy?"

Mycroft's heart was full too; he in turn saw Molly in the little girl's big brown eyes and little button nose (thank GOD she hadn't inherited his own). He kissed her cheek, rubbed her back and said, "Yes. Just be careful, little love."

So Molly set little Genevieve on her feet, and she began her hobbling run on the sand towards the waves, laughing in the carefree way that only a child can. Her parents were close behind her, just as eager as her to play in the warm ocean waves, sand and breeze.

* * *

Hours later, Mycroft was walking towards his wife and daughter on the beach. He had run back to the cottage in order to get some ice cream, as per Genevieve's request. He carried a cone in each hand – strawberry for Molly and chocolate for him, both of which they would share with Genevieve – and he walked quickly so that the sweet treats wouldn't melt in the sun.

But upon arriving at their spot – a beach umbrella propped up in the sand and a large floral beach blanket spread out under it – a truly endearing sight met Mycroft's eyes. Molly was sitting on the blanket, in the shade of the umbrella, and little Genevieve lay fast asleep with her head in her mother's lap, wrapped in a warm beach towel.

Molly smiled when she saw her husband had returned, and spoke low as she stroked her daughter's still-wet hair. "All of the running around and the warm sun has worn her out."

Mycroft chuckled and sat down quietly beside his wife. He didn't miss the look that she was giving him, and he couldn't help but smirk to himself. Molly had told him when they'd arrived that, as much as she thought he looked dashing in his elegant suits, she loved it even more when he wore more casual clothes. It seemed that, in his khaki shorts and short-sleeved white button-up, that included beach attire.

He _certainly_ approved of her own beach attire: a 1950's-style one-piece swimsuit with a lighter blue sarong tied around her waist. Her long hair was braided over one shoulder, also wet from playing in the waves with Genevieve. She looked a bit tired as well, but she was practically glowing with contentment.

"Well, that is hardly surprising," Mycroft said, handing Molly her ice cream cone. "She gets her energy from you, not her lazy father."

"Oh, I don't know," said Molly lowly, beginning to lick her strawberry ice cream. "You can be _quite_ energetic when you put that big brain of yours to it."

Mycroft bit his lip to keep from making any sound of arousal aloud; their daughter was with them after all. "Watch your tongue, madam, we are not alone," he said in a low voice, not looking at her but beginning to eat his own cone. Molly laughed silently and they wordlessly held hands.

They sat like that in silence for a few minutes, holding hands and eating their ice cream, listening to the sound of the waves and watching their beautiful daughter sleeping. It was Mycroft who eventually, gently, broke it:

"Thank you, my love."

Molly turned her head and looked at him. More love than the universe could hold was in his eyes. This was something that he had done before, but only on very specific and special occasions:

The first time had been the first thing he'd said after she'd accepted his marriage proposal.

The second time had been the last thing she'd heard before falling asleep on their wedding night.

The third time had been the first time they were alone with their newborn daughter.

This, their first holiday together as a family, was the fourth time he had said those four words to her with his entire big heart in his eyes and voice. And Molly responded the way she had done three times before this and would for the rest of their lives: She kissed the man she loved.


	3. No Sweeter Reward

**A/N:** _This little ficlet is inspired by the new sketch posted to ArtbyLexie's tumblr account. Her Sherlolly sketches are absolutely wonderful, and when I saw this new sketch I just wanted to write a little piece for it. It's a black-and-white sketch, so I filled in the colors with my imagination. I hope she likes it, and I hope you'll leave a kind review too!_

* * *

 **No Sweeter Reward**

The chase and eventual capture of the man behind the Moriarty broadcast had lasted all night. It being spring in England, it hadn't exactly been warm or dry, either. A completely drenched and exhausted Sherlock returned to 221B Baker Street at the crack of dawn. He wanted to sleep more than anything, but he needed to clean himself up first. So he took a long shower before crawling into bed.

* * *

When he woke up, he saw that there was no sunlight peeping through his bedroom curtains. Rubbing his eyes and getting out of bed, Sherlock went to the window and saw that twilight had just made room for night over London. He'd slept for a long time, then, but that was not surprising. When on a case, especially an important one, his body's needs became a very low priority. Since this case had taken up nearly four months of his time, of course he'd had to eat and sleep on occasion to keep himself functioning, but his habits were Spartan and minimalistic at best.

But once a case was over, he indulged his body's needs like a teenage boy. And now that he had slept, his stomach was making it known to him that it needed sustenance immediately. He'd lost a few pounds in the past few months, and while he fully intended to keep his slim body build, he didn't want to become a skeleton either.

But before he could go downstairs and raid Mrs. Hudson's refrigerator, his mobile chimed with a text alert. Picking it up off his bedside table, his chest filled with warmth when he saw that the new message was from Molly:

 _Are you awake? Mx_

Sherlock couldn't help but smile. She knew him so well; she knew what he would do now that this crucial and very long case was finally finished. He immediately replied:

 _Just woken up. Your timing is impeccable. I hope that you have gotten some sleep as well. SH_

 _Yes, I slept nearly all day. If you're hungry, I can get our favorites from Angelo's and bring it over? Mx_

 _Absolutely. SH_

* * *

Sherlock spent the next half hour tidying up, both his flat and himself. He shaved, combed his hair, and dressed the way he knew Molly liked him dressed the most: a pair of simple but beautifully tailored black pants, matching shoes, and the dark purple shirt that was almost a size too small on him. He then went to his kitchen, and made serious efforts to make it more fit for eating rather than experimenting.

His heart rate sped up when a soft knock was heard at the door to his flat. Running his fingers through his hair nervously, Sherlock walked to the door and opened it. His breath escaped him when he saw what was standing on his doorstep.

There stood Molly, her long and beautiful hair swept into her signature ponytail, and a large bag of wonderfully-smelling takeaway boxes in one hand. Her outfit was her own style to perfection: her soft cardigan was a soft yellow, her skirt was a red checkered pattern, and she wore cobalt tights with a sensible pair of brown shoes. But it was the sparkle in her brown eyes and the lovely smile on her face that made her truly breathtaking to Sherlock.

He must have stood there like a mute and dumb statue for a while because Molly's happy expression eventually melted into concern. She cleared her throat and held up the bag of food from Angelo's that she had brought as promised. "Um, can I come in, Sherlock?"

This made him snap out of his spell, and he dutifully stepped to the side so that Molly could indeed come in. She walked to his kitchen, and he heard her breathe a sigh of relief at the state of cleanliness that it was in. He mentally did a fist pump, not caring how juvenile that was.

After Molly placed the bag of food on his kitchen table, she stood there silently for a few moments, her back to him. She seemed to have fallen into deep thought. Her posture wasn't tense or stiff, which relieved Sherlock. But he didn't like her silence, either. So, when he couldn't take it anymore, he walked up to her and touched her shoulder.

"Molly?"

She didn't respond verbally. Instead, she turned around and hugged him. Her embrace was tight but not suffocating, the way her arms wrapped under his arms and around his torso. Because she wasn't wearing heeled shoes (which she rarely did, comfort was always a priority when she dressed), their height difference was very obvious. Her head easily rested on his chest, her ear pressed to his pounding heart.

Sherlock was surprised, but his own body responded immediately. His own arms came to rest gently around her back and shoulders. He was about to ask what was wrong, but he stopped when he looked down and saw Molly's face. Her expression was not sad, or worried, or desperate. In fact, her facial expression was one of happy serenity.

"You did it," she murmured in a soft and rich voice, a little smile tugging at her lips. "It's over. You're safe, you're home and you're staying home. I'm so proud of you, Sherlock."

Even as tears momentarily clouded his vision, a large and rather goofy grin spread across his face. He had very nearly lost her during this long and straining case of the Moriarty imposter. Not in a physical or morbid sense, thankfully; Mycroft had put her under very excellent surveillance and protection. But he had very nearly lost her in his life. The anger, disappointment and sadness that had been on her face when she'd first seen him after he'd left that plane high as a kite was an image he could never forget. But after he'd gone to rehab for a month, they'd worked alongside each other to close this case and end this terrible threat. He'd earned back her trust and faith in him, and what she showed him now was that he still held a place in her heart.

 _Thank God for that,_ he thought. _Because she holds my own._

His arms around her tightened, and he pressed his wet eyes and his goofy grin to her sweet-smelling neck. They had all been through so much in the last year, so much strain and suffering. But now that storm had passed, and they'd made it through intact and together. Safe in Molly's warm embrace, Sherlock had a peaceful thought.

 _There could be no sweeter reward than this._


End file.
